Whatever It Takes
by ridiculous thoughts
Summary: A Death Eater is sent back in time to off Harry's parents. How far will Harry have to go to protect them? I can assure you that keeping a marauder out of trouble won't be easy...WARNING: Minor Book 6 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

SUMMARY: A Death Eater is sent back in time to off Harry's parents. How far will Harry have to go to protect them? I can assure you that keeping a marauder out of trouble won't be easy...WARNING: This story was written with the assumption that you have read at least part of book 6, and contains minor spoilers. It takes place shortly after the beginning of the school year. If you have not read part of book 6, you will probably find this story a load of very interesting quibble.

I know, i know, this has all been done before blah blah blah, but you know you're just a time travel junkie, or you wouldn't be reading this! ;P

DISCLAIMER: I neither look, sound, nor smell like JK Rowling. Okay, so it's possible I might smell like her if she used American brand shampoo, which I highly doubt, and of course I've never been near enough to her actual person to know exactly what shade of red her hair is, but other than that, well…you get the picture.

PLEASE REVIEW, BUT NO FLAMES.

**Whatever It Takes**

Prologue: Into the Portal

_**The Chosen One's Chocolate Choices**: how does Harry stay so thin and fit without giving up his chocolate frog fettish? Exclusive interview with fellow classmate Fiona Flatulate reveals all!_

"Frog fettish? Why Harry, I didn't know." Ron snickered at the latest headline of Witch Weekly as he sat down at the Griffindor breakfast table beside his friends. To his right, Hermione humphed and reached for the sausages.

"Really, Luna, why do you read that rubbish?" she asked the pop-eyed Ravenclaw across from her.

Harry just rolled his eyes and filled his plate with bacon. He'd gotten used to seeing his name in the wizard papers this year, in conjunction with some far-fetched rumor or another. After the last article detailing his tragic love affair with a banshee declared him tone-deaf and heartbroken, he'd stopped reading them.

"Harry," said Luna dreamily, "where do you get all the broccoli from?"

Ron choked, causing Hermione to pat him roughly on the back until a piece of sausage flew out of his mouth and bounce off of the magazine's black-and-white version of Harry, who promptly raised his fists and appeared to be shouting in indignation. "Uh…sorry, mate," he muttered.

When Luna picked up the paper to brush it off, Harry saw something on the cover that immediately caught his eye. "Luna, could I see that for a moment?" he asked. She nodded and handed the magazine over, saying, "you really should know your own diet, though" in an offhand sort of way, and Harry flipped through the pages to find the story he was after. The title read:

Mystery in the Department of Mysteries: Three Unspeakables Unspoken For 

"What's it about, mate?" Ron asked, looking curiously over Harry's shoulder. Hermione shushed him until Harry had finished reading and passed the paper over.

Before answering, though, Harry unrolled this morning's Daily Prophet from where it sat by his elbow. The stories had gotten so depressing that he usually lost his appetite after reading it, which didn't do much for his health—last week he finally had a dizzy spell while trying to transfigure a spoon into a dust broom and accidentally turned Hermione's hair into bristles instead. Since then, if Harry so much as peaked at the Daily Prophet before eating his breakfast, Hermione threatened to turn his glasses into a mongoose and make him chase it all over the Great Hall.

With one hand holding his glasses firmly in place, Harry scanned over an article that confirmed much of what Witch Weekly had reported—minus the dancing veela— and frowned in consternation.

"Harry, is it true?" Hermione asked, looking worried. Ron was still puzzling through the magazine article, but he looked up at the question.

"The Prophet says it too," Harry told them. "Three Unspeakables went missing from the Department of Mysteries last night. They were seen leaving the ministry, but their families said that they never went home, and they didn't report back for work this morning."

"Did it say what they were working on? This article's a bit sketchy, not surprising of course…"

Harry felt a prickle of dread climb down his back and settle in his stomach. "Well, they don't say for certain, since it is the Department of Mysteries and all, but it does say that they were all working on the same project together…" he scanned the article again. "The reporter thinks that whatever they were working on had something to do with the making of clocks."

Hermione gasped. "Harry, do you remember that room, the one with all the hourglasses?"

"You mean the one where you said that death eater turned into a giant baby?" Ron asked.

"No, Ronald, it was only his head that…regressed…because that was the only part that fell through the hourglass."

"Err…oh."

"So you think they were working with time turners, then?" said Harry.

"Could be…oh, this could be very, very bad."

"But time turners can only take you back a few hours or so, right? What do you

think Voldemort's after?" Harry quickly moved his pumpkin juice out of the way of Ron's jerking hand.

"I don't know, but if Voldemort's messing with time—oh, _honestly_ Ron—if he messes with time, who knows what he might do. Nothing good can come from this."

Harry nodded gloomily. Just because Voldemort didn't get the weapon he wanted before—the knowledge of how to defeat Harry, according to Dumbledore—that didn't mean he wouldn't try to get his hands on other weapons he could use against the wizarding world. But why now? What had the Unspeakables been working on that made Voldemort kidnap them? What was he planning this time?

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts when a barrage of mongoose feathers suddenly appeared before his eyes and took off down the table in a blur. "Hey!" he cried.

The red-headed blur beside him slapped his back in laughter. "Sorry, mate," Ron said, "but she did warn you."

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry and the Daily Prophet reporters had come no closer to solving Voldemort's latest plot. Harry badly wanted to ask Dumbledore about it, but the headmaster had been away and McGonagall refused to pinpoint a time when he'd be back. "Soon," she would say, and redirect him to his croaking pocketwatch. 

Finally, one evening Harry and his friends were sitting by the fire doing their Potions homework when a quivering first-year shuffled up to Harry and nearly poked him in the eye with a small scroll. "H-Harry Potter?" the boy asked, glancing half fearfully, half in awe at Harry's forehead.

Harry tried not to roll his eyes.

"Th-this is f-for you." Once Harry took the scroll, the boy just stood there dumbly until Ron snuck up beside him and cried "BOO!" right in his ear. The first year screamed and tumbled over the chair behind him.

"Oh Ron, you didn't have to give him a heart attack," Hermione said, and helped the boy to his feet, after which he promptly ran of toward a group of first years at the other end of the common room and whispered excitedly with them.

Ron chortled. "Come on, it's a sixth-year's job to hassle the first-years. Besides, he was bothering Harry."

"You still—"

"Guys," Harry interrupted in a fierce whisper, "it's a letter from Dumbledore!" With a quick look around for eavesdroppers, Harry scooted closer to his friends and unraveled the note so they could read it as well.

_Dear Harry,_

_Meet me in my office at precisely 8:30 tonight. The password is "canary creams." Wear muggle clothing but bring only your wand and your father's cloak. Nothing else._

_Ps. No one must see you._

_Albus Dumbledore_

"Wow," Ron breathed, "This must be your first lesson with him. Wonder what he'll teach you?"

"Why does he want you to wear muggle clothes?" Hermione muttered.

"Maybe he's going to teach Harry how to through fireballs and stuff and he doesn't want to ruin his robes," Ron said excitedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you really think Dumbledore has to worry about mending robes?"

"Well, it was a thought…"

"I wonder if he's taking you somewhere else, Harry," she said.

"I dunno…" At that point, a fourth-year dove onto the table in front of them and nearly slid off into the fireplace before Harry and Ron grabbed him.

"Sorry," he said, flushing with embarrassment and trying not to let the rubber quaffle he had just caught fall into the fire. "Just practicing, you know…" He scrambled up and quickly rejoined his friends.

"Honestly, do they really think they'll get on the quiddich team by showing off for you in the common room?" Ron said in disgust. "They're not even on brooms."

Hermione clucked worriedly and gathered their homework together with a summoning charm. "Come on, we might as well get some work done. Harry still has another hour before he has to go."

* * *

When 8:30 came around, Harry told the others that he was going upstairs to get some sleep. Once in his dorm, he cast an illusion charm over his bed so that anyone who peeked through the curtains would think he was lying under the covers. Then he changed into his oversized jeans and sweater, pulled his invisibility cloak over his head, tiptoed back through the students in the common room (dodging a fake bludger that was causing quite a bit of mayhem) and made his way to Dumbledore's office. 

When he arrived, he was surprised to find the headmaster pacing in front of his fireplace. "Ah, Harry," he said, watching as the boy shut the door behind him. "Good, very good. You have your wand, of course? Well then, off we go."

Before Harry could even ask what was happening, Dumbledore stepped into the fireplace with a "follow me, please," threw down some flue powder and said, "Ministry of Magic."

Harry, perplexed, did as he was told and arrived in a cloud of soot beside his teacher. "Headmaster, what—"

He was cut off by a raised hand. "Shh, don't speak until I tell you. And keep your cloak on. All right?" Harry nodded.

As he followed the professor toward the elevators, Harry felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. He stopped, holding his breath, but Dumbledore waved him on impatiently. Harry gulped. What was going on?

Dumbledore led him into the elevator and pressed the number nine button.

Harry's heartbeat quickened. He knew what was on level nine; how could he ever forget? "Department of Mysteries," said the witch's voice, and the doors opened. Harry clutched his wand tightly as they walked through the corridors, remembering the last time he was here. The last time, when his rashness and 'weakness for heroics' had led him—and his friends—straight into Voldemort's trap. When he had come to save Sirius, only to get his godfather killed…

"Here we are," Dumbledore said, and a door closed behind Harry. "You may speak now. But I am afraid we do not have much time." The ground rumbled beneath their feet again, stronger this time, and Harry grabbed onto a nearby desk to keep his balance. Something glass fell to the floor and shattered at the other end of the room. It was the hourglass room, Harry saw: the place where the Unspeakables studied time itself. Where the Unspeakables who had disappeared once worked…

"Professor…exactly what are we doing here?"

"Technically, we have broken into the Ministry and are now about to make illegal use of their property," Dumbledore said with that familiar twinkle in his eyes. He waved his hand and must have performed a disillusionment charm, because a new door suddenly appeared in the middle of what looked like a bookcase full of spiderwebbed equipment. Broken glass littered the floor around it. Harry thought that Dumbledore would take him through it, but instead he turned to Harry with a calm, serious face. "This door," he said, "is a time portal."

"I-I don't…understand…"

The ground shook again, and this time Harry fell against the desk beside him, bruising his side. He watched, horrified, as the door shivered in its frame and seemed to flicker. "The portal has become unstable," Dumbledore said, "because the fabric of time itself is being altered. Someone has crossed through time and is now attempting to change history."

Harry held onto the desk with two hands, trying to keep his feet. Slowly the shaking subsided. "What—how—"

Dumbledore seemed unnervingly calm, but Harry saw the pucker in his mouth that betrayed his anxiety. "Tom has made a very foolish mistake. He thought he could send a death eater back in time to change the past, but what he has done could very well destroy all that we know. He has sent someone, Harry, to kill your parents before you were born."

"And that caused…all this!"

"Yes. He doesn't realize just how much of an impact your life has on our world. Too many changes to the past could unravel time itself."

Harry's grip on the desk had slackened and he fell to the floor with the next quake, banging his head sharply along the way. Dumbledore seemed hardly affected at all. "What can we do!" Harry yelled over the noise.

"You must go through the portal," Dumbledore said. He pulled Harry up and pushed a photograph into his hand, along with a sealed scroll. "Focus on the picture as you walk through. Only on the picture. Visualize it, and will yourself into this time and place. Believe that you are there, and you will be."

"But professor—" Harry's mind swirled as he tried to grasp what Dumbldore was telling him to do. "How –what—"

"Find the death eater and stop him before he does any more damage. He must not be allowed to kill anyone. Minds can be charmed to forget, but death is, as you know, irreversible. Stop him, and then bring him back here—in whatever way you can. Whatever it takes. Do you understand, Harry?"

Dumbledore's eyes looked weary and sad as he said this, and Harry's heart skipped a bit as he nodded. Whatever it takes.

"Good. I am sorry that I cannot come with you, Harry," the old man said. "For a wizard to come into contact with his own past or future self, the results could be disastrous…and we cannot take that chance." He held Harry's shoulders tightly as the ground shook again, and this time an entire cabinet fell to the floor in a loud crash. Harry looked wildly at his headmaster. How was he supposed to save his parents? What was he supposed to do?

What if he failed?

"I trust you, Harry," Dumbledore said, as if reading his thoughts. "You can do this. I know you can." He steered his shaking charge toward the portal. "Remember, focus only on the picture. Will yourself there."

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. _I can't fail, _he thought. _I won't fail my parents._ With a straight back and a steady hand, he reached for the door handle. _I won't fail,_ he thought, over and over again, as he slowly opened the portal to a blinding white light. He looked at the picture.

It was an old, slightly wrinkled photo of the shrieking shack in Hogsmeade. Standing proudly in the forefront, poking each other and smiling mischievously, were Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Harry's father, James Potter. Harry focused on the picture as he was told. It wasn't hard to will himself to be there, with the people whom he longed so badly to see again, to speak with, to hear their voices…

Holding his breath, Harry stepped through.

Dumbledore's words followed him like a soft breeze: "I am so proud of you, my boy…"


	2. The Unwelcoming Committee

Disclaimer: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, sue no..er..me. 

A/N: See end of chapter.

CHAPTER 1:  
The Unwelcoming Committee

The first thing Harry noticed as he stepped out of the bright light was the fact that he was nowhere near the shrieking shack, as he had expected to be. Instead, tearing his gaze away from the photo in his fist, he discovered himself in the very same cluttered room where he had just left Dumbledore a moment before. The same wooden desks lined up before him; on either side, the delicate equipment that had previously shattered on the floor now perched innocently on the bookshelves as though nothing unusual had just occurred.

"Professor?" he called softly, not really expecting a response. This may appear to be the same room he had just left, but a gut feeling told him otherwise. There was a stillness in the air that bespoke of caution, of watching and waiting for something to happen. Harry took a step forward and drew his wand.

Then the floor beneath him exploded upward in a shower of red light, and he saw no more.

* * *

"Ennervate." 

Harry opened his eyes, blinking against the light of a lumos charm held directly in front of his face. Instinctively he tried to raise his arm to bat it away, but cold metal trapped his wrist against what he discovered to be the arm of a rather uncomfortable wooden chair.

"State your name," said a gruff voice beyond the light.

"Harry James Po… Harry P…" The words tried to slip from his mouth, but somehow the name Potter stuck in Harry's throat and refused to budge. What was going on? Where was he?

For a few confusing moments, fear attempted to send his pulse pounding in his ears, but it was soon overwhelmed by a deep blissful fog that relaxed his muscles and drew him away from such bothersome thoughts.

"Harry James you say? All right, Mr. James. What is your date of birth?"

Those words wouldn't come out either. Through the fog in his mind, Harry felt a brief flicker of gratitude. Before he could reason out its source, though, it was gone.

The shadowed man repeated the question twice more before giving up with an annoyed grumble.

"Well then. Do you at least know how old you are, boy?"

"Yes."

Grunt. "How old?"

"Sixteen."

"Place of residence?"

"Surrey, England."

"Exact address?"

"…"

"Very well then. No date of birth, no address. Do you live on the streets, boy?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The man turned to look behind him, causing the wand to dip slightly to the right and away from Harry's eyes. "Contact the headmaster. I want all the information he has about one Harry James and what connections he might have…inside the Ministry or out. Parents, friends, the name of his sister's cat. Everything. Go. Now!" he barked. The shadow behind him scurried away.

"Very well, Mr. James," he said, turning back to Harry. The boy caught a glimpse of piercing electric blue eyes before the man steadied his wand again. "What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?"

The answer was on the tip of Harry's tongue. It was important, he knew it was…but then the feeling escaped him, and the blissful fog rolled back in.

"Say something, boy! What were you doing here? Sabotage?"

"No."

"Spy work?"

"No."

"Looking to steal something, then?"

"No."

"Who sent you?"

"No one."

"Were you on a mission for You-Know-Who?"

"No."

"Then why did you break in?"

"…"

The man muttered to himself. After a moment of thought, he asked, "How did you get inside the Ministry tonight?"

"Flooed in."

"From where?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore's office."

The wand dipped in an abrupt movement and steadied. "Interesting," the man muttered. "Charleston," he barked, "go inform the headmaster to tighten his security."

"B-but…can't that wait until after—?" another voice stuttered.

"What have I told you, Charleston? Security is a number one priority. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

A yelp accompanied the sound of a chair clattering to the floor somewhere to Harry's left. "But…our orders sir…you're not to be left alone with anymore prisoners, sir, not after the Hastings incident, remember…"

A growl from the man in front of Harry set the other one shuffling out with mumbled comments about "temper" and "extra paperwork."

"Now, then," said the gruff voice, once the door had closed, "How did you get past the security wards on the headmaster's floo?"

"I didn't."

The wand twitched. "How were you able to use it, then?"

"Professor Dumbledore opened the wards."

"Why?"

"So I could follow him to the Ministry of Magic."

Another twitch. "He's here, then?"

"No."

The man growled. "If I didn't know you were telling the truth…" he muttered. "Why did he bring you to the Ministry?"

"To save my parents."

"Your parents? Are they here, then?"

"No."

"Do they work here?"

"No."

"Prisoners, then?"

"No."

"Then how in the bloody hell were you supposed to save them by coming here?"

"…"

"Well? Who are your parents then?"

"…"

The lit wand was twitching like mad by now. "What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?"

"…"

"Don't you know anything about what you were doing here with Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"What, then?"

"…"

The wand jerked violently, followed by another frustrated growl. "All right then. Boy's obviously under a spell…that or he's daft, if you ask me…" he muttered. "Do you have any connection with the Death Eater who broke into the Department of Mysteries two weeks ago, Mr. James?"

"…Maybe."

"Maybe? What kind of answer—" The man abruptly cut off when the door behind him opened and two figures walked in, one of them draped in flowing purple with a long white beard. He didn't understand why, but if Harry were not already relaxed, he might have breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of safety that the sight of this man gave him.

"Hello, Alastor," said the old man. "I hear you have a boy here who claims to reside at my school. A Mr. Harry James, is it?" He moved up to the gruff man's shoulder and peered curiously down through his spectacles at Harry.

The questioner grunted. "You do realize this is a major breach of security to interrupt an official Ministry interrogation, Albus."

"Oh? And why is the Ministry interrogating a sixteen year old boy, outside of the presence of his parents, and with the use of veritaserum, if I might ask?"

"Do you know this boy, Albus?" the gruff man asked, clearly ignoring the question.

The old man hummed thoughtfully. "He does resemble one of my students, a very mischievous young lad indeed…" He gave Harry a disapproving look. "I'm afraid he is quite known for his pranks."

The man grunted noncommittally, looking sideways at the third visitor who had entered with the old man. "Boy doesn't seem to know what he was doing here, Albus. It was a pretty dangerous prank, I'd say. Probably sent here on a dare." He squinted back at Harry. "You're sure he's not a Death Eater, then?"

"Definitely not. A bit of a troublemaker, perhaps, but…I believe he is a good person at heart."

"Still, breaking into the Ministry after hours is a serious charge, Headmaster."

The old man's gaze pierced the boy in front of him. "Of course, Alastor, of course. Incidentally, I don't suppose you have a record of the boy's permission to use verituserum on him for questioning, do you?"

The wand in Harry's face wavered and dropped. He blinked slowly at the fierce-looking man in front of him, wondering why he looked so wrong having two eyes.

"I trust he will be punished severely for this, Albus. We can't have students popping into all parts of the Ministry whenever they get the urge to pull a prank."

"I think being placed under interrogation is enough to keep our wayward young man from repeating tonight's performance," the old man said, smiling politely, "however, of course consequences will be faced at the school as well. Now, I believe there is always some paperwork to be filled out for these things. If I may borrow a quill…"

Harry watched listlessly as the three men shuffled papers around, casting suspicious glances in his direction all the while—except for the old man, who seemed to ignore him completely once the decision for his release had been made. Harry felt the shadow of disappointment at that, but it quickly faded into the haze in his mind once again.

Finally, Harry's wrists were released from the chair and he looked up into the fierce eyes of the gruff man. "You have Dumbledore's support," he muttered, "and that's enough to get you out of this one. But you mark my words, boy, you step one more toe out of line and they'll be lucky to find the pieces to put your foot back together again. You hear?"

Harry nodded hazily. Foot, toes, pieces. Right.

The man pulled him up none-too-gently by the arm and leaned in close to whisper, "I will find out what you were up to, boy. Don't think I won't." For a fleeting moment, Harry thought this should worry him. Then the old man was there, filling up Harry's vision and saying, "let's get you back to school, Mr. James," and everything was all right.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to say a heartfelt apology for putting this story on the backburner for so long. I wrote the first chapter in January fully intending to continue with it, but I ended up getting caught up reading all of the excellent fanfiction on this site. Reading is such a quicker fix than writing, though not half as satisfying. When I discovered how many people seem to have liked this story, however, I decided to pick up the pen once more. 

Please continue to REVIEW! Anything you have to say would be helpful. The more reviews I get, the quicker I'll update, I promise ;)

To those who have written reviews: thank you, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Wit's End

Chapter 3

Wit's End

For the second time within 24 hours, Harry awoke in an unfamiliar place. This time, instead of the hard wooden chair of the interrogation room, he found himself tucked neatly into a wide, deep blue canopied bed situated in the middle of what looked more like a fish tank than a bedroom.

Seaweed climbed the walls around him, swaying gently back and forth as though pushed by invisible currents. The few pieces of furniture looked to be made of coral, shells and pearls; to his left, a giant clam shell with a polished mirror inlay bobbed open atop a coral table that seemed to grow out of the floor, which looked to be made of sand. When he stood upon it, the spongy carpeting pushed back against him so that he bounced and almost fell back into the bed before catching himself. Even the light moved around from above him in soft rays like sunlight shining through water. Harry was reminded of the Mermish village at the bottom of the Black Lake near Hogwarts, and for a wild moment wondered if that's where Dumbledore had taken him.

His memory of the previous night was foggy at best; he remembered arriving in the past Ministry and getting caught by some kind of stunner trap…a man who he thought might have been Professor Moody had questioned him, but something had prevented Harry from giving away too much information, thank Merlin…Dumbledore had come…he was taking him back to Hogwarts…but what happened next?

This certainly didn't look like Hogwarts.

Very gingerly, trying to keep his balance on the spongy flooring, Harry walked to the door and tried the handle. He was half surprised when it actually opened onto a hallway of the same design as the bedroom. After the strong suspicion he had met in the old auror, part of him had expected to be confined again. Surely Dumbledore didn't really think he was James Potter playing a prank, did he?

Schools of bright yellow and red fish darted across the walls and ceiling around Harry as he made his way down the hallway. Even a few grindylows shook their fists at him threateningly from behind enchanted clusters of weeds and seagrass. As he walked by them, a giant tentacle whipped out from a doorway ahead and snatched one, pulling it into the door with a high-pitched yelp.

At the end of the hallway, a rickety wooden staircase led upwards into bright sunlight. Harry held to the railing gingerly as he climbed, half expecting the steps to splinter beneath him. At the fourth step he paused, hearing voices in the room above him. He knew that he should either continue up or go back—after all, it was bad form to listen in on Dumbledore, whose gentle rumble he recognized immediately—but then he heard another man say his name.

"—sure you should be trusting this Harry James character, Albus. He was obviously under some very powerful magic to resist the veritaserum. Who knows what he was really doing there—"

"Really, Fabian, for what purpose would You Know Who send a sixteen-year-old into the Department of Mysteries?" a woman asked. "He isn't even Marked!"

"Can anyone guess the mind of that madman? Just because we can't think of a reason doesn't mean there isn't one."

"I swear, you're sounding more like Moody every day. I expect you'll be charming your dustbins to attack your guests as well, soon enough."

"I'd be proud to be half the wizard—"

"That is quite enough, Fabian," said Dumbledore. "Gertrude, I understand that you and Alastor have your differences, but his…eccentricities…are not at question here. Let us remain focused on the subject at hand, please."

Apologetic mumbling followed.

"Very well, then. I believe we were discussing the attack on the apothecary yesterday. Are you sure that this is the same Death Eater who broke into the Ministry two weeks ago, Fabian?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"Quite sure, Dumbledore," answered the man. "The magical signature matches. Unfortunately, the clerk can give us little information as to his identity, since he was attacked from behind. But we do know that he is no amateur. He was able to get through the wards on the shop without so much as a hiccup. If not for Mr. Salamander's habit of counting his money before bed, he never would have discovered the intruder, and we wouldn't even have a magical signature to track."

"The ingredients that he stole could be used in a number of potions, as well," said the woman, Gertrude. "What puzzles me is that they are mostly common ingredients, things like lacewing flies and gillyweed that any wizard with a few galleons to his name could buy off the market without worry of detection. You Know Who and his followers should have no problem attaining these ingredients without resorting to petty thievery."

"We think he's fallen out of favor with his master, for whatever reason…maybe for failing to complete his mission in the Ministry that day…so now he's been given a task that he'll get no help with, something that will either prove his worth if he's successful, or send him to the dogs if he's not."

Dumbledore seemed to consider this for a moment. "I have reason to believe that this wizard is working alone, yes, but on Voldemort's orders."

"And where did you hear this, Albus?" Fabian asked suspiciously.

"From our guest downstairs, as a matter of fact."

"Ha! So he is a Death Eater—"

"No, no, far from it, my dear boy," he corrected. "Please, believe me when I tell you that I have undeniable evidence that proves he is no follower of Voldemort, but in fact only wishes to help us."

"What evidence is that?"

"I'm afraid I cannot reveal that to you." Impatient noises followed this statement. "I understand that what I am asking is difficult for both of you, and I daresay goes against your nature, but I hope that you trust me enough to take an old man's word when he gives it. I give it to you now. Harry James is not a follower of Voldemort."

The half-reluctant, half-ashamed assents rolled over Harry without his really listening. A humble sort of wonder filled his chest at Dumbledore's words. How did he know? How could he put so much trust in Harry, whom he had only met for the briefest of moments?

And the Death Eater—Harry hadn't given Dumbledore any information on him the previous night…unless he did and couldn't remember…which made absolutely no sense at all…

"Perhaps it is time to meet our guest," Dumbledore said, and Harry panicked. Were they coming this way? What would they think of him if they found him standing there, listening in on their conversation? They had plenty of reason to think he was a spy already!

Harry backtracked silently down the steps, hurrying along the hallway back to his room. The trouble was, he wasn't sure which door he had come out of. The voices were getting closer to the stairway, though, so he opened the nearest door—he was pretty sure the room was around here somewhere—and stuck his head in for a look.

He promptly fell in.

For one panic-filled moment, Harry thought he had fallen into the bottom of a real lake this time, and without the aid of gillyweed to help him breathe; walls, ceiling and floor had disappeared, leaving him floating through an elaborate coral reef among darting fish and other sea creatures…even the door had disappeared, leaving nothing but water behind him…reflexively, he opened his mouth to yell…and air rushed in.

Despite the creatures swimming, gliding and crawling around him, Harry realized that he could feel no water on his skin. Was he in some kind of air bubble in a lake, he wondered, or was this another room in the same house, charmed with a much more elaborate illusion to make the visitor feel like he was swimming? Harry grabbed some nearby weeds and pulled himself along, looking for a sign of the door. It was definitely a strange feeling, to be floating through the air like those people in muggle space movies. He wasn't sure if it was a good strange feeling or not, since his stomach seemed to be attempting to float right out his mouth. In fact, the longer it took him to find the door, the more his insides tried to become his outsides, and the more he longed for gravity to return.

He ran out of weeds to navigate with, and grabbed hold of an outcropping of coral…which grabbed him right back. Harry struggled against it, but the rough coral only wrapped around his wrist more firmly and pulled him forward, past more large reefs, through a patch of seaweed, and right up to a giant green eye.

The eye blinked at him from a mass of writhing tentacles covered in green and yellow coral, one of which still kept ahold of Harry's wrist. The creature was massive; the eye alone was almost as big as Harry, and though he couldn't see the rest of its body, just the thought of how large its mouth must be sent shivers down his spine. He really hoped it wasn't hungry.

_What is this_

The voice came from all around him. Harry gulped, searching for the speaker.

_A human child. How…intriguing._

Harry, finding no one else, looked back at the single eye before him. "Are…are you speaking to me?" he asked, feeling foolish.

_Ignorant child. _A tentacle poked Harry's back, sending him swinging helplessly forward toward the eye before being stopped by the grip on his wrist. _Perhaps it is lost._

Harry pulled his foot away from another questing coral arm. He felt a bit peeved at being called a child and talked about in the third person, but if this thing could help him get back out then he'd play along. "Yes…I was looking for the way out…if you could just tell me where the door is, I'll just be…going…"

_It seeks an answer_

A hundred tiny voices seemed to hum in excitement; suddenly, little wisps of light darted up from within the tentacled mass and danced around Harry like a cloud of eager fireflies. He watched them nervously. "Erm…yes, I…would like an answer."

The cloud of lights positively vibrated now. _Does it have the price_

Harry frowned. "Er...price?" The dance grew frantic, now focusing in around his head; he could feel them brushing against his scalp…if the wind had feet, this is what they would feel like, he thought. He was starting to think that asking for this creature's help was a bad idea.

_We accept_

Harry's pulse quickened. "But—"

_The door is above the child_

Harry looked up, searching. "Where?"

_If the child calls, it will come_

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I have to call for the door?"

_Does it seek another answer_

"No," he said quickly. "I don't need another answer. Er…I'll just be going now, thanks. If you'll just…let go of my arm…"

_The deal is set. An answer is given. The price shall be paid_

Harry swallowed. The lights around him grew brighter and brighter, melding together like mini-suns so he had to close his eyes, and even then he saw only white…then pictures started to form…Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he saw…

_Sirius was falling through the veil…Cedric asked him to bring his body back…Wormtail quailed under Sirius' and Lupin's wands in the Shrieking Shack…Harry flew over the quidditch stands, holding a golden egg under his arm…_

Harry struggled to stop the images, pulling violently against the arm that held his wrist, but it was like fighting a waterfall. Anger filled him, and grief, and happiness, and fear, sweeping through his body uncontrollably as each memory flashed before him.

_Cho leaned in towards him, face wet with tears…Hermione laid petrified on a hospital bed…Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets…Mrs. Weasley hugged him for the first time…Hagrid told him he was a wizard…he was holding an extendable ear, listening to Moody claim that Harry was possessed…_

It was a fight just to think beyond what he was seeing…_a hundred dementors were closing in…_the door, Harry thought, he had to call the door…_ "Step aside, girl"…_he opened his mouth and called for it, hoping that somewhere his voice was working though he couldn't hear it…_his hand dripped blood onto the paper as he wrote, 'I will not tell lies'…_his hand brushed the door's handle and he grabbed it , turning…_he raised the quidditch cup above his head_…yanked with all his might…and fell, gasping, onto spongy carpet.

In front of him, a pair of slippers peeked out from a deep purple robe.

"Hello, Harry."

* * *

Fabian Prewett, the man that Dumbledore had been speaking to in the sitting room above the stairs, reminded Harry very strongly of his nephew, Bill Weasley. Like Bill, his long hair was held back in a ponytail, revealing an earring on the left side—not a fang, but a golden griffin with red eyes. The clothes he wore, though out of date by Harry's time, would probably fit in at a rock concert here…or a disco, if wizards listened to that music…but there, the similarities to Bill ended, and Alastor Moody took over.

It was mostly in his eyes. Not that they were fake, mind you, but that they seemed to know every suspicious deed that Harry had ever done and at the same time made him feel guilty for not checking his tea for poisons before tasting it. There was no mistaking him for anything but an auror.

Gertrude Buttles, on the other hand, was a mixture between Molly Weasley and Hermione. She was a soft, plump woman with cheery red cheeks, a motherly smile and eyes like a hawk. The way she looked at Harry made him feel like a cub on display at the zoo: a peculiar yet harmless animal that she might coddle or plop on the examining table and dissect.

He shifted on his seat uncomfortably.

"Go ahead and drink your tea, Harry," Dumbledore said. "It will help with your headache."

"Erm…thanks," he mumbled.

"You were lucky that the water sprite released you when it did. One often emerges from the Oracle room unconscious and remains so for anywhere from a few days to a few months, depending on the price demanded for one's answers."

"Oracle, sir?" Harry asked, fidgeting.

Gertrude answered. "It is an ancient creature which collects knowledge from its visitors, and in return it answers any question that you might ask of it. A very fountain of knowledge at your fingertips, if you are willing to pay for it."

Fabian snorted. "If you can get a straight answer from it, you mean. It doesn't just take knowledge in some nice little exchange, either. It feeds off of your emotions—the stronger, the tastier—so it takes that knowledge directly from your mind, by making you relive your worst and best memories. Wizards have been known to go mad from the experience."

"Lucky I found the door when I did then, I guess," said Harry.

"You didn't," the auror said. "Once you ask a question, only the Oracle can let you out. Once she decides that you've paid a sufficient amount, she tosses you out. Or if she's being playful, she'll make you call for the door like an idiot."

Harry's cheeks flamed. "So...er…what is this place, anyway?" he asked Dumbledore. The quick subject change was not lost on the auror, whose smirk Harry was determined to ignore. "I thought you were taking me to Hogwarts."

If the view from the windows was real, in fact, they were nowhere near the school. The top floor of this strange…house, if one could call it that…seemed to float atop a great expanse of water; not an ocean, since the waves were far too calm, but a lake so big that there was no land in sight. And it literally did float; Harry's spongy chair bobbed gently up and down so that his stomach was never completely settled.

The old man's eyes twinkled. "Do you like it? This is the summer home of a good friend of mine. It goes by the name of 'Wit's End.'"

Harry grunted noncommittally.

"In response to the other part of your question," Dumbledore went on, "we did stop at the school for a moment," he said, "though I believe you were too far under the serum's influence to remember it. We flooed here from my office last night, after picking up a mild sedative potion. I'm afraid the only way to counteract the effects of veritaserum is to sleep it off."

"So…did we talk about anything while I was…under?"

"No, no," he said, "I did not believe it would have been appropriate to question you further in that state. Though you did give me a rather interesting letter that you had been carrying on your person. Surprising, is it not, that the Ministry aurors did not find it when they searched you? Perhaps Alastor is losing his touch."

Of course, Harry thought, Dumbledore's scroll! It must have explained enough about Harry's presence to reassure the headmaster as to his loyalties, at least…but…

Suddenly he drove his hands into his pockets, searching…it had to be here…the aurors couldn't have taken it, could they? He breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers brushed the folded parchment in his back pocket, the one which contained a photograph of the Mauraders in front of the shrieking shack. Then he thought of something else that he usually kept in that pocket, and panicked again.

"Sir," he said, looking up, "do you have—"

Having anticipated the question, Dumbledore was holding out Harry's wand, grip first, towards its owner. Slightly embarrassed, Harry accepted it with a word of thanks and put it away. He couldn't believe he hadn't missed it sooner.

"Now, if we are all settled then," said Fabian, looking pointedly at Harry, who tried valiantly to ignore the burning in his ears, "perhaps we should get right to the point. Albus here seems to think that you can give us some information about a case that my peers and I have been working on. As you probably know, approximately two weeks ago, an unidentified Death Eater broke into the Ministry…not unlike yourself, Mr. James" (could eyebrows blush? Harry thought so) "and set off several alarms before blasting his way through an old ventilation shaft and escaping through a tunnel of the London Underground."

"Wait," Harry said, "if he set off the alarms, why didn't he get stunned like I did?"

Fabian managed to look both proud and disapproving at the same time. "That was one of Moody's new modifications to the Ministry's security system. After the example we had two weeks ago, it was disturbing to discover just how lax we had been in the protection of our government. In fact, I find it very interesting that you were able to get as far as the Department of Mysteries before setting anything off…" Here he pierced Harry with a fierce glare, but was prodded on with a slight cough by Dumbledore.

"We traced the signature on his blasting charm," Fabian continued, "but we found no matches. As far as our records are concerned, this wizard does not exist."

"Did he take anything?" Harry asked, thinking of the wealth of powerful objects that surely must be held in the Department of Mysteries alone. "Any…artifacts or such?"

"That's what's puzzling, isn't it?" Gertrude jumped in, "Nothing was stolen, or sabotaged; the aurors can pinpoint no motive for his being there."

Fabian harrumphed. "The only explanation we can come up with is that he failed in his mission, whatever it was. The time lapse between the breach of the alarms and his escape suggests that he left in a hurry. He may have been scared off before he could accomplish anything."

"I do not believe his purpose in the Ministry was to steal anything," Dumbledore interjected, giving Harry a brief wink out of sight of the others, "though of course we should not discount it. However, the mission he is carrying out for his Master is what we need to discuss here today."

"Do you know what it is, Headmaster?" Fabian asked.

Dumbledore looked at his future student. "Harry?"

"Erm…" He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly like a deer in headlights under those gazes. "Actually, his mission is to kill two students at Hogwarts. James Potter and Lily Evans."

The statement felt strange on his tongue, like a fairytale story that someone was trying to convince him was truth. It felt…unreal.

Not just that his parents were in danger; but that they were students at Hogwarts. Alive. At Hogwarts, right now.

Alive.

"Aren't the Potters at St. Mungo's?" Fabian asked Dumbledore, puzzled.

Harry's stomach flipped. "What? Are they hurt?"

"No," said the Headmaster, "they are not hurt, Harry. The Potters are mediwizards."

"Why would You Know Who be after their son? Got in with the wrong crowd, have they?" asked Fabian.

"As far as I remember, they are neutrals in this war, as their profession requires. I am afraid that the reason behind Voldemort's scheme this time is unknown to me; however, the danger that James and Lily are in is very much real. They must be protected."

Fabian looked at Harry critically. "Perhaps you know the reason, then?"

"I…can't really say that, actually," he said. "Sorry."

The auror turned a shade of red reminiscent of Vernon Dursley, but Dumbledore once again headed off the impending eruption. "Trust me, Fabian," he said, "please. Do not seek foul play where there is none. Sometimes, a little faith can serve us better than our need to see all of the facts." His eyes twinkled. "There is yet some good in the world."

"If they are students at Hogwarts," said Gertrude, "then they are already well protected. No Death Eater would dare try to enter the school under your watch, Albus."

"You'd be surprised," Harry mumbled.

Fabian glowered. "What was that?"

"Erm, it's just that…" Harry cleared his throat nervously. "There are ways of getting into the school without detection, sir. Secret tunnels, for one. And there's always polyjuice potion, which could let the drinker impersonate one of the professors, or a student, which would give him even more access to James and Lily…" Harry's voice grew stronger as he gained momentum; the subject of Voldemort's methods was one he knew too well. "The imperious curse would be more difficult, but it's still possible. The easiest course would be to find allies within the school who can help him get in, or draw James and Lily out. Whatever his plan is, it's going to be subtle, complicated, and yet right in front of you, so Voldemort can gloat over how cunning he is and how stupid you were that you couldn't see the signs from the start."

The silence that followed prompted Harry to look back up at the others. Fabian and Gertrude looked somewhat shell-shocked, while Dumbledore was smiling in satisfaction. "Er…what?" he asked, wondering if he had somehow slipped and said all that in parseltongue.

Fabian blinked and shook his head, saying, "I hope you know what you're doing, Albus."

"Well," said Gertrude, looking like she wanted nothing more than to pry open Harry's head and take a look inside, "I suppose something might be in order, then. Yes. Perhaps we should station some guards inside the school, then?"

Though the question was aimed at the Headmaster, Harry got the impression that Dumbledore wanted him to answer. "I don't think that would be enough," he said. "Voldemort is likely to get someone on the inside working for him, whether it's the Death Eater himself or someone he can influence. We need someone on the inside, too. Someone who is in constant contact with James and Lily and the people around them. Then if someone starts acting suspicious around them, or gives them Dark objects or tries to get them to leave the castle grounds, for example, they can do something about it immediately, or at least get word to Dumbledore."

"A bodyguard, then," mused Fabian. "Maybe in an ideal world, that would work, but we can't spare anyone to babysit a couple of students for as long as it takes to catch this guy."

Dumbledore hummed. "Actually, I know of just the right people for the job, if they'll accept it. One guard for Lily, and one for James."

"Who?" Fabian asked suspiciously. "I hope you have the sense not to ask me, Albus."

"Actually, I rather think we need someone who won't give our hand away; better that the Death Eater does not know that we know what he is after. He would be more likely to leave signs of his plans if he thinks that we are not looking for them." He looked apologetically at Gertrude. "We need someone who can pass as an average student. I know that you feel rather protective of the girl, but…I would like to ask for Andromeda's help."

The witch's eyebrows shot up. "Andromeda? But…she's my best student! She only has one year of study left before she obtains her degree! Think of how much time she will lose, the work she will have to make up…"

"I'm sure that she can find a way to continue at least some of her work while she is at Hogwarts, Gertrude," he said, eyes twinkling, "it is, after all, a school."

The woman crossed her arms stubbornly. "You cannot force her to return there," she said. "If she says no, that's an end of it. You'll just have to find someone else."

"Of course," he said. "It will be her choice. I will honor her decision if she decides to stay with you, just as you will if she decides not to."

Harry looked from one to the other, feeling a stab of disappointment. Hadn't he been sent here for this very purpose? Did Dumbledore expect him to just sit on the sidelines while someone else did all the work? And—was he going to keep Harry from finally meeting his parents? "Professor," Harry said hopefully, "I would like to help, if you'll let me."

Dumbledore smiled. "That is precisely what I had in mind."

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took so long for this update; I think you can prety much expect them to be slow. Bills do take priority ;P As partial compensation, this chapter is twice as long as usual, at least.

Thank you for the reviews! It's been a while since I read the books, so if you see any discrepansies or inconsistencies, please let me know. I'm trying to stay as close to cannon as possible. Or if you have any criticism, suggestions, or comments, I'd love to hear it.

PLEASE READ: If anyone knows the Black lineage well, please let me know! In what order were Sirius's cousins born: Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Andromeda? And how exactly are they related to Sirius?

Thanks for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW!!


	4. A WarTorn World

A/N: You may have noticed that the **rating** has changed; from here on out this will be a pg-13 story due to **action/violence**, and some swearing (minimal). If you think it should be higher, please let me know.

To any betas out there: if you are interested in being my beta, please help! I have no idea how the process works, so I'm hoping you will know. I need someone who can hold me to an update deadline, point out bad wording/sentence structure, and maybe give suggestions about plot flow. Just drop me a review and I'll look you up to see a sample of your writing. Thanks!

More A/N at the end of the chapter.

Thank you to all who reviewed!

**Chapter 4**

**A War-Torn World**

Harry pulled his head back over the side of the magically-propelled speedboat, saying a miserable farewell to his lunch. He wished desperately that he could see the land that Fabian claimed was ahead of them, but his view was closed off by the front half of the boat, which lifted above him at a sharp angle with the speed of their passage. To each side Harry saw nothing but spray and waves, jerking them up and down, up and down…

Harry quickly averted his eyes to the back of the auror in front of him. He could swear that Fabian was deliberately searching out the roughest waves to bounce over.

"How much longer?!" he called out. He had to repeat himself a few times to get the man's attention over the noise of the magical rotor.

Fabian leaned back from the steering wheel and gave a fierce grin at the sight of Harry's green-tinted face. "Nothing like a bit of speed to get the blood going, eh lad?" he shouted.

Harry scowled. "I don't see why we couldn't have taken brooms."

"That's why you're not in charge, now, isn't it?" said the auror, turning around again. Harry just glared at the back of his head.

When Dumbledore had told Harry that it was time for him to go to Hogwarts, he had been overjoyed. Eight days in that water-hole was enough to turn anyone a permanent shade of green. Harry had spent most of his time in a thankfully immobile study, reading up on the news of this time and the information that Fabian brought over about his new identity: Aleksander Albion. The auror had wanted a legitimate name and background for Harry to assume, which meant searching through European records of missing people for a seventeen-year-old home-schooled wizard with British roots whose family was either dead or missing as well. The fact that it had only taken the auror seven days to locate one showed just how vicious the war had become, especially in Europe.

It was unlikely that anyone at Hogwarts would recognize Aleksander Albion, and even if they did, there was no way to make him look exactly like this wizard without a constant supply of hair or nails for a polyjuice potion, so Fabian had settled on a few superficial changes to Harry's appearance. Only two simple potions were needed: one to grow out his hair to shoulder-level (which to Harry's chagrin only made it bushier, giving him a sort of wild look), and one that changed his eye color to a stranger violet hue (apparently a common feature in the Albion family). Muggle hair dye was used to turn his hair a lighter brown color. Harry had asked for something to cover up his scar, as well—even if no one else recognized it in this time period, the death eater he was hunting was sure to know what it meant—but Fabian just gave him a headband to tie around his forehead. Glamour charms, he said, were too unreliable in a school where any stray _Finite_ spell could undo all of your work.

Harry had had less than one day to read through the files on Aleksander Albion before Dumbledore sent Fabian to take him to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, there was no floo at Wit's End, which led to Harry's current plight in the back end of a madly bouncing speedboat.

He was tempted to act the teenager and badger Fabian with questions of 'Are we there yet,' when finally the rotor slowed and the boat dipped enough for Harry to see the docks of a small lakeside village ahead of them. Now that the waves no longer impeded his view, he could see a few other boats zipping over the water around them, one trailing a water-skier. Farther along the inlet, swimmers bobbed here and there and lounged on blankets on the sandy beach.

Fabian pulled the boat alongside one pier and tossed a line out to a bearded man standing by the post, who tied it down with practiced speed. "Good morning, Sam," the auror called cheerfully. "Catch anything lately?"

"Boots and bottlecaps," Sam said. "Thought I saw a couple twenty-inchers hiding in the weeds, but I guess they were looking for bigger worms to bite." Fabian nodded and held the boat steady for Harry to wobble out first, then jumped down gracefully after. The bearded man nodded a goodbye as the wizards passed him.

They climbed a short staircase leading up from the marina and entered onto a crowded street lined with venders selling fresh fish, vegetables, and touristy baubles. Muggle shoppers bustled past the two wizards, some wearing bathingsuits, some wearing horribly clashing flower shirts and taking pictures with huge heavy cameras. Harry was puzzled at the lack of digital cameras and cell phones, until he realized that they hadn't even been invented yet.

"Where exactly are we?" Harry asked, trying not to look at any of the food they were passing by. The fishy smell was going right to his stomach, which he was still trying to convince that he was now on dry land.

Fabian threw him a suspicious look. "Muggle city," he said.

"I know that. What's it called?" A dark-skinned family pushed past him, chattering in a language that was obviously not English. "For that matter, what country are we in?"

"Does it matter?"

Harry snorted in annoyance. "Humor me."

Fabian turned the corner at the next street and picked up the pace, eyes roving over the crowd. After a few minutes of silence, Harry reached for his arm. "Fabian—"

Before he could blink, the auror had grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt and brought them nose-to-nose. "Now you listen here, kid," he growled, "I don't know you, I don't like you, and I don't trust you. I am not here to answer questions or make small talk. If you want information, you talk to Dumbledore when we get there. Until then, keep your mouth closed and your ears open. Got it?"

Harry glared at the man. "Fine," he bit out.

Fabian held his eyes for a moment, then released him with a toothy grin. "Good," he said. "Let's go."

They passed through several more streets, making so many turns that Harry was sure they were going in circles, but he kept his comments to himself. The auror kept up his brisk pace, his eyes darting around with a worried look on his face. His paranoia was catching; after a while Harry caught himself looking for black cloaks among the tourists and shook himself out of it. Voldemort didn't even know of Harry's existence here; he had no reason to send his death eaters after him.

Annoyed with himself for worrying, Harry focused on watching the auror in front of him. Fabian might share Bill Weasley's sense of fashion, but he was more like Percy than anyone else in that family, Harry thought sourly. He might not have been the Minister's lapdog, but the auror seemed to share Percy's sense of righteousness and blind devotion to his boss, in this case Mad-Eye Moody. Harry doubted he would ever win the man's trust.

They turned down yet another street, passing a vendor that Harry knew he had seen before. Harry was reminded of the summer before fifth year when his Order escort flew with him from Surrey to London, and Moody wanted to fly through Greenland to throw off imaginary pursuers. Where in the world was the bloody public floo?

Harry was so busy mentally grumbling at the man in front of him that he didn't see the ten-or-so-year-old boy in his path until he had walked straight into him. The boy stumbled a bit and grabbed onto Harry to keep from falling over, saying something apologetic-sounding in a harsh language.

"Sorry," Harry said, helping the boy regain his balance. "Didn't see you there."

Fabian had stopped a few yards ahead of him, frowning impatiently. Harry gave the boy a little wave and watched him run away. "Ran into him," he said tersely.

Alarm crossed the auror's face. "Check your pockets," he said.

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, but did as the man asked. A moment later, he was swearing. "My wand," he cried in shock. "The kid took my wand!"

He swung around, searching for the short, dark-haired child through the crowd, berating himself for keeping his wand in such an accessible place as his back pocket, even if it had been hidden under his shirt. He heard Fabian behind him, telling him to forget it and go, when a group of tourists separated and suddenly Harry saw him. "There he is!" he shouted, and took off running.

Fabian swore and yelled after him, but he was also following. The thief sprinted through the crowd like a minnow, darting here and there, while Harry pushed unfortunate muggles aside and hopped over a bench, shouting apologies as he went. He turned a corner onto the next street, now having to dodge café tables lined across the right side of the road; on his left, the windows of a crowded shopping center reflected the sun into his eyes. Farther down the street was a bridge that crossed a river. The boy had just made it to the water when it happened.

An ear-shattering explosion rocked the street and sent Harry flying into a mass of tables and bodies. Glass showered the air, shattering into the cafés and onto the road. Harry, partially covered by a fallen table, shielded his head as well as he could from the biting shards, but he couldn't shield himself from the screams of those people left out in the open.

When the last of the glass had fallen, Harry raised his head and looked out over the devastation. His side of the street was littered with overturned tables and chairs, many of which had crushed together against the walls of the cafés; food, dishes, and people were strewn over the ground amongst glittering glass. Papers and ash drifted through the smoke-filled air, coloring the once-vibrant area gray. The entire front wall of the embassy was gone.

Harry dragged himself out from under the table, holding his arm over his nose and mouth as he coughed. His legs stung, but he ignored the pain, running his eyes across the fallen people around him for a familiar redhead. "Fabian!" he called out, choking. "Fabian!"

He tried to stand but immediately fell back down, grabbing his leg. A twisted shard of metal was sticking out of his right calf. Without stopping to think, he jerked the metal out with a scream and held onto his leg, panting through his sleeve. When the pain had lessened enough he pushed himself up again and teetered drunkenly. Others around him had started to move as well; some crouched over the bodies beside them; some staggered around like Harry, searching for friends or family or just looking around them in shock. Moans, shouts, and screaming filled the air.

Harry called out for the auror again, but he couldn't hear any reply. He limped past a pile of rubble when something grabbed his leg and he looked down. It was a woman, covered in ash and torn up clothes, speaking desperately in that foreign language. Harry stared at her for a moment, feeling like he was watching from somebody else's eyes. She was gesturing to a bundle clutched in her other arm.

The bundle moved. _Oh_, he thought sluggishly. Just as he bent down to help, a green light flashed over his head.

Harry jerked to the side and rolled. Adrenaline shot through him, breaking him out of his daze. _Death eaters_, he thought frantically. _How in the bloody hell did they find me already?!_ Another flash, red this time, and he threw himself behind another table.

People were still standing around him, in shock. "Get down!" Harry yelled, but they didn't seem to hear him. He looked around the edge of the table just in time to see another spell heading towards him; Harry dove at a man beside him and knocked him out of the way as the table he had hidden behind burst apart with a sharp crack. He could see the black cloaks now: one across the street, two to his left and one on the right. The two on the left were exchanging fire with another wizard, covered in soot and blood but dodging their spells fluidly. _Fabian_, Harry thought in relief, before a tingle in the air like static electricity made Harry dive to the side once again as a spell shot past him from the death eater on his right.

His hand automatically reached for his pocket, but nothing was there. _He had no wand._

There was nothing else he could do; desperately Harry picked up a broken chair leg and ran towards the lone death eater, zig-zagging past rubble and crouching muggles. He dove again behind a table to avoid a spell, rolled and leapt at the dark-robed wizard before he could get another shot out. Harry swung at him with the chair leg and the man fell clutching his head; his mask broke and fell aside, but he didn't let go of his wand. Harry grabbed for it, prying at his fingers; together they rolled on the ground in a fierce tug-of-war, kicking and pushing with their free limbs. Finally, in a moment of feral desperation, Harry bit down on the other wizard's hand and his fingers jerked open, allowing Harry to twist away with the death eater's wand. Aiming a quick _stupefy_ at him, Harry turned back towards Fabian only to see the auror running towards him full tilt.

"GO!" yelled Fabian. Behind him, a cloud of pitch-black smoke hid the other death eaters from view. Fabian grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him along down the street, toward the bridge. "Can you apparate?!" yelled the auror. Harry shook his head, too out-of-breath to speak. His right leg shot pain through his body with every step. As they reached the bridge, spells once again started flashing past them and they dodged as best they could.

Fabian led him straight to the middle of the bridge and to the railing, but he didn't stop. Instead, leaping onto the cement rail in a crouch, the auror pulled Harry up beside him. Harry only had time to take a breath before he was yanked over the side and into the rushing water below.

The next thing he knew, hands were grasping his hair and arms, pulling Harry up out of the water and over the side of a horribly familiar speedboat. He collapsed into a seat, sputtering and coughing up water. Beside him, Fabian crouched with his wand ready as Sam, the bearded man from the docks, hurried back to the helm, cursing all the way.

Harry was too tired to do anything but lay back, panting, as the boat sped upriver and out of the death eaters' sight. He wondered when he had lost his glasses.

A green skull floated lazily over the blackened sky above. Ash drifted down like snow.

* * *

A/N: I hope you like this chapter; it feels a bit fast to me, but I wanted to get some action in here, and introduce Harry to the current state of the war.

Once again, I'm sorry about the delay with this update. I haven't given up on the story yet, and I hope that you won't either!

Thanks to all of you who reviewed, and especially for the tips about the Black family and the hp lexicon. The lexicon is going to be a major help!

Also, thanks to those who offered some corrections. I've added the changes in my copy of the story, so when I post on other sites those changes will be made.

Thanks also to Corran Nackatori for telling me to allow anonymous reviews (I had no idea that I was blocking them) and for telling me what a mongoose really is ;P Hey, you learn something every day.


	5. NearSight, HindSight, BlindSight

**Chapter 5**

**Near-Sight, Hind-Sight, Blind-Sight**

If Harry thought that fighting against Death Eaters with Fabian would soften the auror's attitude toward him, he was sorely mistaken. Apparently, almost being killed by someone doesn't make you their enemy, Harry thought bitterly, staring down the wand in his face.

Since Sam had literally picked them up in the speedboat, the three wizards (he assumed Sam was a wizard, since he knew how to operate the magical boat) had maneuvered down several twisting channels before coming out into a large river that snaked through a lush countryside. Every once in a while, they would pass small groups of houses with private docks, and fishermen dotted the banks here and there. If not for the circumstances, Harry might have found the area to be very peaceful.

"You know, if you're going to point your wand at me, you can at least do a healing spell while you're at it," Harry finally said, rearranging the towel that Sam had given him to press against the hole in his leg. The bleeding had slowed down, but it still hurt badly enough to make him long for the Hogwarts hospital wing.

Fabian didn't blink. "Funny, isn't it," he said, "that those Death Eaters found us when they did. I especially liked the part where you led us straight into their ambush."

Harry's jaw dropped. "I didn't—You think—"he sputtered. "How thick are you?! They were trying to kill me! Why would I—"

"Four Death Eaters, and only one—an incompetent one, if he couldn't even hex a sixteen-year-old—paid you any attention. If they were trying to kill you, I think they would have tried a bit harder."

"So they were after you then?"

"Obviously. I've earned a high ranking on Voldemort's hit list. As you should know."

Harry grit his teeth. "And instead of running off with them, I've managed to end up here, stuck on a boat with you, without my wand by the way…why, exactly?"

"You tell me."

Sam called over his shoulder, "Here comes the apparition point!"

He aimed the boat toward an old, dilapidated dock that had halfway sunken into the river. Harry ignored Fabian's glare and asked Sam, "Where? On the dock?"

"No," he said, pointing, "in there." Harry looked through the trees and saw an outhouse with walls so rotted they threatened to fall at a touch. With the use of magic, he figured it was probably bigger on the inside than it looked. "Doesn't look like much, but it works in a pinch," Sam remarked.

"Why can't you just apparate from out here?"

Sam pulled up to the dock and grabbed a post to steady the boat and bring it closer in. "Nontracable wards on the outhouse," he said, winking. "You gonna apparate with your wand in the kid's face, Fabby?"

Fabian rolled his eyes but waved Harry forward. "You first," he said.

Harry grabbed the pole and, with a doubtful look at the boards beneath him, stepped out onto the dock. Fabian quickly followed, but Sam stayed behind. "Catch you later," he said, climbing back behind the…steering wheel.

"Where are you going?" Harry blurted. He really didn't want to be stuck alone with the auror again.

Sam's smile was just as predatory as Fabian's. "Fishing," he said, and with a wave he revved the engine and sped back the way they had come.

At the prod in his back, Harry made his way towards the outhouse with the auror close behind. Both were limping pretty heavily. "You do remember that I can't apparate, right?" he said, panting with the effort.

"We'll do a side-along."

"You'd better not 'accidentally' leave any pieces of me behind," Harry grumbled. He sorely wished he had his wand back. "Did you see what happened to the boy that took my wand?"

"I was a bit preoccupied with the wall falling on me."

"Right."

* * *

Harry woke slowly to the wet-sock taste of a healing potion on his tongue. He knew where he was before he opened his eyes. The antiseptic smells, the dry rub of cotton bedsheets, the slight charge of magic in the air…and the sound of Madame Pomfrey clucking over a patient on the other side of the room, could only be found in one place: the Hogwarts infirmary.

_Finally,_ he thought.

Even with the untraceable wards, Fabian had still made several misleading jumps to throw off their trail, before they finally arrived at a vacant wizarding home and flooed to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was all a blur in Harry's mind; each apparition had left him drained further, and the dizzying trip through the floo was the last thing he remembered before blacking out. Harry hoped he never had to see the auror again.

He reached to the side table for his glasses, but of course they weren't there; they were probably smashed up somewhere in Timbuktu , or wherever it was that Fabian had taken him. Or maybe they had fallen off in the river…maybe they were now home to some starving colony of slimy, river-dwelling things…maybe the Oracle found them…

"Really, Mr. Lupin, it doesn't taste that bad. Drink it down, now, there's a good lad."

Harry's heart gave a jolt.

"Now, you boys had better behave yourselves," said Pomfrey. "Especially you, Mr. Black. Don't give me that face. Mr. Lupin needs rest, not a heart attack."

"Never fear my lady, I will be the perfect gentleman whilst thou art away," said a pompous voice. Someone else snorted.

Pomfrey sighed noisily as she walked away. "You boys will be the end of me…"

Harry clenched the bedsheets, fighting equal impulses to both jump out and grab his godfather and hide under the covers until they all disappeared. Lucky for him, a curtain concealed his bed from the rest of the room. He wasn't ready for this yet!

"Did you bring the homework for Transfiguration?" asked the one Harry assumed was Lupin.

"Got it right here. Are you done with your _Prophet_?"

_Oh, Merlin._ Harry knew that voice.

It sounded like coming home.

"Yah." Paper rustled. "I'm surprised you want to read it, James."

"Nah, Prongs just found out there's a picture in there of Lily's boyfriend, Butt Springs."

"You mean Bruce Springstein?"

_Whap._ "Hey!"

"I told you never to say that name in my presence, Wormtail."

Harry's heart was beating a mile a minute. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. _You knew they would be here,_ he told himself. _Get a grip._

Madame Pomfrey bustled through the curtains on Harry's right, holding one of her infamous potions. "Hello, dear," she said, piercing him an inquiring gaze, "I'm happy to see that you're awake. Quite a nasty set of injuries you had there."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

The nurse put a hand on his forehead. "You still look a bit peaky. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he said.

"Hmm." She handed him the flask she was carrying. "Blood replenishing potion," she explained. "Do you have any idea how many pieces of glass you had in you Mr. Albion? We've been bathing you with a _Dissolu_ potion all night to get rid them. If you have any discomfort at all, you need to tell me so I can give you more. We have to make sure that you don't get an infection."

A flush crept over Harry's cheeks in mortification. He hoped she was using the royal 'we.' He really didn't want to think about Madame Pomfrey and whoever else giving him a sponge bath.

"Erm…all right," he said, privately thinking he'd rather deal with it himself.

"Good. Now, let's take a look at your leg."

Harry laid back while she changed his bandages, all the while muttering about boys getting involved in things they shouldn't. He listened for the voices of the Marauders, but they were either very quiet or they had left. He didn't know which he preferred.

Madame Pomfrey frowned at him and brought out another potion from within her robes. "Drink this," she ordered, pulling his pant leg back down.

Pains that he hadn't really noticed disappeared as he drank the bitter fluid. When Pomfrey took the flask away she remarked on his pale skin and said, "Perhaps a Pepper Up potion wouldn't go amiss…I'll be right back, Mr. Albion."

"Hey Madame Pomfrey, who is that?" Sirius asked.

So they hadn't left after all.

"Mr. Black, I am not in the habit of discussing my patients with students who certainly have better things to do than to stand around in my hospital wing all day. Don't you boys have classes to get to?"

"It's lunchtime!"

"Not anymore it isn't," she said. "Now, shoo!"

There was much grumbling and rustling of bags and paper, but finally the boys left the hospital wing. Harry was both relieved and disappointed to hear them go.

A short time later (during which Harry hid in his bed listening to Remus nervously tap his fingers while shuffling through his notes on the other side of the infirmary), the door reopened and Dumbledore's voice broke the quiet. "Ah, Mr. Lupin, how are you this fine afternoon?"

"Erm…just fine, Headmaster."

"Very, good, very good. I see that your friends have delivered your coursework to you."

"Yah, they were just in. Is everything all right, Professor?"

"Yes, everything is going quite well, thank you. Actually, I am here to see our latest guest. If you will excuse me," he said, and came through Harry's curtains. "Hello, Mr. Albion."

Harry arranged himself against the headboard while the headmaster put up a privacy charm and sat in a chair beside him. "'Lo, Professor," he said.

"I see that you are looking much better than you did last night. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"I'm glad to hear it. You had a very close call yesterday. Fabian told me what happened."

"I'm sure he did," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Yes, he had quite the story. Perhaps you would like to tell me your side of it?"

So Harry told him about arriving at the dockside city, meeting Sam…"He said something about catching fish, or not catching them actually. I guess I just assumed he was a muggle fisherman." Then, walking through the nameless city, running into the boy, finding that his wand was gone…

"He was dressed as a muggle," Harry said. "He was just nine, maybe ten years old. I don't understand why he would do that—just take my wand and run right through a bombsite. He could have been killed."

"My guess is that he was only hired to take your wand and lead you on a chase. It is most likely that he was not told what would happen once you came to the Embassy," Dumbledore said.

"But why would they hire a child?"

"Because a child could get close to you without suspicion…and, I suppose, run through the crowds faster. As to the danger…he was most likely a muggle, and therefore expendable in the eyes of some Death Eaters."

"Do you know if anyone found him? If he's alive?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "The muggles are still sorting out the dead and wounded. He may not even be identified if he was a street urchin, which I suspect he was. I'm afraid there are some complications in the search for your wand, as well."

Harry's heart plummeted. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Our people are having a difficult time getting near the site of the explosion, or anywhere in the city for that matter. I'm afraid this attack was not only aimed at Fabian. Did you happen to notice the flags hanging in front of the Embassy?"

"Er…no, sir, I was mostly focused on the boy."

"It was the British Embassy, Mr. Albion," he said wearily. "The wizards of Kenya are very protective of their muggles. For this reason, our government had sought them out as potential allies in the war. The explosion was Voldemort's way of issuing a warning against such a union."

Harry was quiet while he digested this information. "Are they going to listen to him?" he asked.

"It is a difficult decision to make," Dumbledore said. "At the moment, they have restricted our access to their country and put a full stop to negotiations while they consider their options…and the potential consequences."

"Voldemort's not going to leave them alone, though, is he?"

"Kenya is a long way from Britain," he said, "And some ways from Europe, as well. There are many who believe that distance equals safety."

Harry fiddled with the sleeves of his hospital-issued pajamas. He had never really considered the political side of war. Had he been told of this two days before, he would have said they were nutters if they thought they could step aside and do nothing to help fight Voldemort. But he'd seen for himself the damage that a few Death Eaters could do to muggles…and that was just a warning. He couldn't blame them for trying to protect their people by remaining neutral. He wondered how many countries in Europe felt the same way.

"Fabian tells me that you were both attacked following the explosion," Dumbledore prompted gently.

"Erm…yah," Harry said, "just one of them though. I was lucky he didn't kill me, actually…" He continued his story, ending with his awakening in the infirmary. "They were all in here earlier," he said, "my father and his friends. They didn't see me, though."

"I suppose that must have been quite strange for you."

"Yah," Harry muttered. "Strange."

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and started cleaning them on his robe. "Fabian assures me that you have memorized your 'history.' I'm sure that you will do just fine," he said. "Now, Poppy would like you to stay here one more night, but she has grudgingly given her permission to release you sooner if you promise to do nothing more strenuous than eat and go to bed."

Nervous, Harry nodded.

"Lovely," said the headmaster, putting his glasses back on. "Perhaps you would like to join us for dinner in the Great Hall, then?"

"Erm…yes, I suppose…but Pro—I mean, Remus is going to know that I was in the hospital wing."

"Voldemort is very much active in your 'home' country, Mr. Albion. Exactly why Voldemort is so interested in Albania, we do not know, but he is making his presence felt quite thoroughly there. In fact, he has recently attacked a museum in their capital city, Tirana. Perhaps it was your misfortune to be in the area?"

Harry nodded his understanding.

"Very well. I shall announce your presence at dinner. Oh, and one more thing." He reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a pair of glasses. "Perhaps these will be of some help," he said, handing them over. "Poppy will charm them to the correct prescription, of course."

Harry accepted and turned them over in his hands. He knew better than to try them on before the lenses were corrected. "Thank you, sir," he said.

He sat quietly for a while after Dumbledore left, gathering his thoughts. The war here was so much bigger than what he had known. It seemed like the war had barely begun when he had left…he wondered how long it would take before Voldemort built back up to this scale in Harry's time.

Eventually, though, he shook himself out of it. He had a responsibility here, and it had nothing to do with the world outside Hogwarts. This is what he had to focus on: protecting his father. He had a Death Eater of his own to catch.

With that in mind, he changed out of his pajamas and into the Griffindor robes that someone had left on the side table for him. Giving the knot in his headband one last tug, he screwed up his courage, opened his curtains and stepped out into the hospital ward. Seventeen-year-old Remus looked up from the book on his lap with a look of surprised curiosity.

"Hello," Harry said, holding out his hand. "I'm Alek. Aleksander Albion. It's nice to meet you."

* * *

A/N: Thanks again to all who reviewed the last chapter! It took a while to update again, but I have four jobs now and it's hard to find inspiration. Funny, I heard an official-looking person on TV the other day say that women prefer part-time jobs. I'd like to slap him silly.

Anyway, sorry that Harry didn't meet his parents yet; I was going to have it happen this chapter, but apparently he just wasn't ready yet. As you can probably tell, this story is going to reach beyond Hogwarts, so yes Fabian will be an important character, and events happening in the outside world do matter to the plot. I'm tired of all the stories that completely revolve around Harry revealing his identity to his father and the subsequent pityfest, boot-kissing, prank-wars and obliviation that usually follow. I want Harry and the Marauders to have room to grow in this story.

On that note, if anyone would like to share some suggestions on a place you would like the characters to visit in this story, let me know and I'll see if I can include it in future chapters. ;P

RT


	6. Some Welcome

Chapter 6

Some Welcome

Harry stepped through the Fat Lady's portrait with his head down, hoping not to draw the attention of any odd students who might be hanging out in the Griffindor common room right now. He looked around and slumped in relief. Aside from a small group of third or fourth years by the fire, no one was about. He hurried across the room and up the stairs to the seventh year dormitory.

He figured that he had about ten minutes before he had to get to the Great Hall for dinner. He had been putting this off all day, having vague and awkward conversations with Professor Lupin and playing a game of exploding snap that accidentally set fire to part of the young werewolf's homework. As painful as that was, at least it helped get his mind off of the impending meeting with his father and Sirius. On the other hand, it had made the time go by faster, and now just…nine minutes stood between him and his parents. Harry pushed open the door to his new dorm.

Five beds stood against the walls, in various states of sloppiness. Only two had been made up neatly, one of them obviously not lived in. At its base sat a trunk with the name Aleksander Albion on its nameplate. Curious, Harry went to this one first and opened it up. Inside were the normal stack of books, quills, parchment, and whatnot for school. On top of it all was a wand. Harry picked it up gingerly, remembering the sometimes dangerous reactions that wands tended to have when used by the wrong person. Nothing happened. Standing back, he cast a quick tempus charm. The wand heated up a bit and reluctantly spit out the spell, telling him that only five minutes remained before he had to go. He stuffed the wand in his pocket; it would do for now. It was better than nothing.

James Potter's bed sprawled messily on the opposite side of the room. Glancing at the door, Harry hurried over to his father's trunk and ruffled through the jumble of clothes and odds and ends inside without really looking. He didn't have time for that right now. After a few minutes of frantic digging, he found a folded parchment at the very bottom and pulled it out. Tapping it with his new wand, he whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

As ink crawled across the paper into the familiar shape of the Marauder's Map, Harry flipped the pages open to the outline of the Griffindor tower. When he reached the seventh year dorms, he froze. For there, instead of the name Harry Potter, he found…nothing. No dot, no name, nothing. The map never lies, Harry thought. Why didn't he appear on it?

Deciding to ask Dumbledore about it later, he cleared off the map and thrust it back at the bottom of the trunk. If his father couldn't see Harry's name on it, there was no reason to steal the map from him. And no need to worry about him finding out that Harry had stolen it. Best to just leave things as they were, then.

The last group of Griffindors had cleared out by the time Harry came back into the common room. The essays they had been working on lay over the table surrounded by bookbags and sweaters. Other bags had been left on the couches and chairs, saving favorite spots for later. On one chair, the Daily Prophet sat upon a pile of books, opened up to a winking picture of young Bruce Springstein. Reminded of his mother's crush, Harry smiled and hurried out of the portrait hole.

It seemed to take no time at all for Harry to navigate his way through the deserted corridors to the Great Hall. He pushed open the double doors with his heart in his throat.

The first thing he noticed was the empty Headmaster's chair at the head table. On either side were arrayed the usual teachers, plus or minus a few—Snape and Hagrid, of course, were the most obvious absences. A heavyset, jovial man sat in Snape's place, while a stick-like, prim woman who reminded Harry of his aunt Petunia occupied Hagrid's chair.

Below them, the same mass of black robes and red, purple, yellow, and green ties and ribbons adorned the students at the tables, who attacked their meals with the same gusto and chatted just as animatedly as any student in Harry's time. It felt like a shock to his system to look out at the sea of faces and not recognize a single one.

He had truly left his home behind.

One head looked familiar, though. It wasn't the same red hair of his best mate, but a color he had stared at for hours in his first year, sitting on the floor of a forgotten classroom.

Lily Evans.

She sat in her own world, at the center of the Griffindor table, gesturing with her fork in a passionate discussion with a blond girl across from her.

And there, a little closer to this end, Harry spotted the back of Remus and, beside him, the wild black mane that could only belong to his godfather. Sirius.

Harry took several deep breaths, trying to stop his hands from shaking as he watched the figure from behind. His head felt feather-light, but he couldn't stop himself from looking for one last figure among the crowd…

But James Potter was not there.

Harry frowned, now looking over the rest of the Hall though it was unlikely his father would be sitting anywhere else.

"Excuse me," mumbled a voice from behind, and Harry turned to see another shockingly young face in the doorway. He gaped, feet rooted to the spot. "You're blocking the door," said Severus Snape, scowling.

Harry broke out of his daze. "Sorry," he said, moving over. A bubble of hysteria rose up in his chest, and he couldn't help the laugh that broke through. With a half-curious, half-irritated glance, Snape slumped past and hurried toward the Slytherin table.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and turned back to the Griffindors. However dreamlike this felt, it was no dream, nor a memory in a pensieve. He couldn't just stand there and watch. So, in typical Griffindor fashion, Harry gathered up his courage and walked straight down the aisle towards the familiar brown mop of hair.

He wasn't quite courageous enough to speak to anyone else just yet.

"Erm, excuse me," he said to the boy on Remus's left, "mind moving over a bit?"

The fourth year shrugged and scooted down the bench, taking his plate with him. Remus looked over and smiled hesitantly. His face still looked pale and drawn; the werewolf had been released from Pomphrey's watch about an hour before Harry had managed to convince her to let him go as well.

Harry sat down and a plate appeared before him. "Hey, erm, Remus, was it?" he asked nervously.

The werewolf nodded and gestured down the table. "Welcome to Griffindor," he said. "Were you already sorted, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry, fingering the patch on his robes. "Guess we're in the same house."

"Yep."

Such was the kind of awkward conversation that the two had been having all day. Harry would ask the kind of questions that new students might ask, and Remus would give polite, to-the-point answers. It was like talking to the school handbook.

"So, who are your friends?" Harry asked, hedging.

"Well, that's Peter," he said, pointing across the table. Pettigrew, who had been leaning forward listening from his seat, flushed in acknowledgement. "And this is Sirius. They're in seventh year, too."

Sirius glanced over from his spot on the other side of Remus. Harry, finally daring to take a closer look at the youthful version of his godfather, choked on his pumpkin juice.

"You all right?" Remus asked, patting his back awkwardly. Harry nodded silently, trying not to bust a gut at Sirius's current 'look.' Along with his signature long hair, Sirius had grown out his sideburns down to his jaw like an Elvis impersonator. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had also grown a goatee—at least six inches long, gathered together with a red and gold bow in the center. Harry wondered if Remus had any pictures of this in the future—or if they had all been burned later on in embarrassment.

"W'as tha', ma'e?" Sirius asked around the food in his mouth.

"Nothing," said Remus, "just telling Alek here your names. Alek's going to be in our year, a Griffindor."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He nodded at Harry distractedly. "Right in."

"On."

"What?"

"It's 'right on,' not 'right in,' Sirius," Remus told him.

"That's what I said."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Nevermind him," he told Harry, "he's trying to learn muggle sayings to impress his latest girlfriend."

Harry snickered.

"Hey man, mellow yellow," said Sirius, making a peace sign at Harry. "Did I get that right, Moony?"

"Sure, Sirius."

Harry, unsure of what else to do, stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

Sirius hastily wiped his hand off on his shirt and shook it. "Right in, mate. What's your sign? Mine's the dogstar."

"Erm…"

"He means the constellation that you were born under," Remus volunteered. "And that's a pick-up line, Sirius."

"No, it's not!"

Remus sighed. "You're also a Sagittarius."

"No, I'm not!"

"Erm…I'm a Leo," Harry told them.

"Really? That's…erm…a good sign, right?"

"It means he's an adventurer like you," Remus said. "He follows his heart instead of his head. And he likes fried chicken."

Harry grabbed one of the chicken legs that appeared before him.

"Really?" laughed Sirius. "Does the Dogstar sign mean that I like steak?"

"Nope. I'm afraid that you prefer cauliflower. Lots and lots of cauliflower."

Sirius wrinkled his nose at the heaping plate that suddenly materialized on the table. "That's not even funny, mate," he said.

"Is he staying in our dorm?" asked a squeaky voice from across the table. Peter's eyes flicked suspiciously between his friends and Harry.

The werewolf frowned. "Did the Headmaster assign you a dorm, Alek?" he asked.

"Erm, yeah…"

They all jumped when a heavy bookbag slammed into the seat beside Pettigrew. Standing above it, scowling and red-faced, was James Potter.

"Started already, have you?" he grouched.

Harry, a bit starstruck, took a moment to realize that his father was talking to him.

"I—er…sorry?"

Remus sounded just as confused. "Do you two know each other?"

"No, and I don't plan to, either," said James, fuming as he grabbed some food and stuffed it into a napkin. "I'm eating in-dorm. You coming?"

The three marauders exchanged glances and stood. "Sure thing, mate," said Sirius.

"Wait a minute," Harry sputtered indignantly. "What are you talking about? You haven't even met me before!"

"Oh, I don't need to," said James. "Dumbledore's told me all about you, _Alek_, or whatever your name is. So, what's the weather like in _Albania_, then? Do you get loads of snow, there?"

Harry frowned, annoyed at his father's obvious goading. "Depends on which part you're in," he said.

"Funny how you speak English so well when it's not 'your language.' Your accent is so faint I can't even hear it."

Harry gritted his teeth. "My parents were British."

"Really? Tell me something in Albanian."

"All right James," said Remus, "why don't we go back to the dorms and talk this over."

"No. I want to hear him speak Albanian. Go on, then."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I don't speak on demand," he said.

"Ha!" James pointed at him. "You can't, can you?"

"Prongs," said Sirius, sending a suspicious glance at Harry, "you know we're with you all the way, but…what's going on?"

"He's—"

"Mr. Potter," the Headmaster interrupted, coming up behind James with a disapproving look. "Perhaps we need to discuss the proper behavior toward guests in our school."

James clenched his jaw. "Sorry, Headmaster."

"It is not I to whom you should be apologizing."

He shot a glare at Harry. "Sorry," he bit out.

Dumbledore smiled. "Very well, then. It would not do to start off on the wrong foot with your new housemate, now would it? I'm sure you will get along just fine." With that, he patted James on the shoulder and continued on his way to the head table.

James slung his bookbag roughly back onto his shoulder. "Whatever Dumbledore thinks," he whispered furiously to Harry, "You'd best stay away from us. I don't need a bloody babysitter hanging about, making sure I keep my nose clean. Go spy on somebody else." He jerked his head at his friends. "Come on, then," he said, and strode off toward the doors. Sirius, Remus and Pettigrew followed.

Harry, not daring to look at his mother for fear of the same reaction, finished what he could of his meal in silence.

At curfew, after a few hours spent staring at a book in the library to avoid going back to the Tower, Harry had no choice but to face the music and return to the dorm he now shared with the four marauders. He just had to remember that they didn't really know him, he told himself. Whatever James's issue, it was against Alek, not Harry. Or against whatever Dumbledore had told him about Alek.

James obviously didn't realize the danger he was in. Maybe if Harry explained it better, James would understand.

Entering through the portrait hole, Harry's heart plummeted.

Laying on its side at the bottom of the stairs to the boys' dorms was his trunk, gaping open. Scattered around it were his clothes, parchment, quills, and whatnot. Above the mess, in blinking red letters, two glaring words read: KEEP OUT.

Some welcome.

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A/N:

Most of this has been sitting here on my computer for…I'd rather not say how long. After looking back at your reviews and the number of fabulous people who have added this story to their favs and alerts, I was inspired to finish the chapter and post it. I'm working on more, but I can't promise quick updates. The bills have grown with my salary, and I now have a job that requires that I take my work home. As I write this, I'm sitting on sixty essays and 260 pages of assigned classwork that I have to grade this weekend. So this is how I choose to avoid it.

Blugh.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know it's pretty short, but if I added any more it would have taken longer to post! Please continue to inspire me with your reviews.

RT


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